


when the world is burning (i'll keep finding you)

by murphysarc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Apocalypse, Blood, F/F, Fluff, Gore, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, it's a zombie apocalypse au!!, otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphysarc/pseuds/murphysarc
Summary: Murphy’s a (currently) unemployed writer. Bellamy’s a cop. It’s your typical “I’m alone at 2am, come over” fling. At least, it was, before the day Raven pulled up outside of Bellamy’s house with the scent of death on her lips, blood spilling from an open door, and a warning that they had to come with her if they wanted to live.Or, a zombie apocalypse au full of murphamy and others. main title & all chapter titles from "finding you" by kesha.





	1. i wanna dig in your heart

**Author's Note:**

> sooo for anyone keeping score, remember that 20k murphamy fic that was coming? this is it, but split into 8 parts. gonna be honest, couldn't tell you how often i'll be updating but there will be 8 parts, 9 if an epilogue happens. part 2 is halfway finished.
> 
> hope you enjoy! all the characters tagged will be in it, but some just haven't made an appearance yet :)

It’s 8am on a Saturday morning when Murphy rolls out of bed, quite literally, his head landing softly on one of the many pillows scattered on the floor. A soft breath escapes him, a ghost of a laugh. The hoard of bedsheets surrounding Murphy on the floor is evidence that last night was anything but restful.

Some may say that it’s also evidence Bellamy’s bed is far too small for company, but Murphy would be inclined to disagree.

The noise is enough to wake Bellamy, but not enough for him to say anything about it, so Murphy rises from the floor in search of last night’s clothes. The dark black attire is easy enough to find amidst the white sheets. During his search, he finds Bellamy’s clothes as well and hangs them over a chair, because that’s the kind of person that he is on a Saturday morning, or at least, that’s the kind of person he thinks Bellamy needs on a Saturday morning.

Murphy turns a final time to glance at Bellamy. His eyes are closed, his mind seemingly peaceful, so Murphy keeps the window closed. His hand is on the doorknob when he hears movement behind him.

“You can stay for breakfast, you know.”

A smile plays on Murphy’s lips, for once reaching his eyes, but it is not one that he’d ever let Bellamy see. “Ah, you and I both know that’s not the kind of person that I am.”

He doesn’t have to look to know that Bellamy’s propped himself up on his elbow, staring at Murphy with intensity. “It could be, you know. We could – oh, I don’t know.”

But Murphy’s unwilling to let the moment die. “Are you asking me to go steady with you, Blake?” He does turn around, now, if only to see Bellamy’s reaction.

For his credit, Bellamy’s face remains unchanged. “Sounds like that’s what you want me to ask.”

Murphy laughs. “And _now_ we’re full circle. I’m a writer, Blake. We don’t do ‘steady.’”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, falling back on his pillow, eyes staring absentmindedly on the ceiling. “Right, sorry, I forgot that all writers are ‘tortured souls’ who don’t do commitment.”

It’s not meant to be a sting, but it feels like one. “Something like that. Anyways, I’ll be off now. Novel’s going to be ready any day now. Call me next time you’re lonely.”

“I’m not–”

“Oh, yeah, it’s not like this is the third consecutive week, or anything,” Murphy says, choosing that moment to leave. The whole scene was a bit melodramatic for his taste, but then again, he supposes that’s what writers do best.

 

-xxx-

 

Fourteen hours later, he’s in front of a blank monitor. The cursor blinks once every second, a constant mockery of his progress. A half-empty bottle of vodka sits just in reach of his right hand. It’s another reminder of his failure.

The truth is there is no novel. Ever since the city newspaper had folded and no other journalism job in Vancouver took him seriously, Murphy’s been dedicating all his free time to writing a novel that will get published and make him famous overnight. It’ll be his breakthrough into the industry. It’ll show everyone that they were wrong, that he’s good at this, that this is what he’s _meant_ for.

He knows that it is, and yet, every day the novel remains empty.

He’s written pages before, sure, both drunk and sober. In the end, though, sober-him thought drunk-him wrote too abstract, and drunk-him thought sober-him wrote too simply. Either way, the previous day’s work would always be deleted for next time.

Another sip of liquor burns his throat as he unlocks his phone and calls Emori. She’s his best – his only – friend in the city. She, too, had worked at the paper before it’s eventual bankruptcy and closure, but unlike him, she’d landed her next job on the biggest news network in Vancouver only a week later. Now when he sees her face on the nighttime news every weekday, he can’t help feeling a bit of resentment mixed with his pride.

That’s what separates them, he decides. Emori shines in front of the camera, but Murphy, he repels it.

 _“John,”_ Emori says when she answers. _“I’m glad you called, actually, there’s something that–”_

“Do you like ‘averse’ or ‘opposed’ better?”

_“What?”_

“For my novel. Either, ‘he’s _averse_ to the idea’ or ‘he’s _opposed_ to the idea.’”

_“John, focus, I need to–”_

“‘Averse’ or ‘opposed?’”

_“John!”_

“Yeah, you’re right, ‘averse’ is too proper, I’ll go with ‘opposed.’”

Silence follows his words, enough so for Murphy to realize what’s happened. “Oh. Sorry. There’s something you want to say?”

He can hear her draw a shaky breath on the other end. _“John, there’s this video. It’s gone viral, and for the past few nights, I’ve had to do a report about it.”_

“Okay. Which video?” He wouldn’t know it even if she told him.

_“I – look, I’ll just send it to you. Open your messages.”_

He does. She’s not his only contact, but she’s the only one who shows up in his ‘recent’ folder, so it’s easy for him to find the video link she’s attached. He pulls it up with only a moment of hesitation.

The video’s titled “ **Zombified Man Goes Crazy in Toronto, Attacks Police!”** The view count is in the high millions. It auto-plays. Murphy wishes it hadn’t.

Someone in a small crowd shot the video from their phone. It’s shaky, slightly blurry, and the sound quality is terrible, but Murphy can see why it’s gone viral. In the video, a car has crashed on the side of the road. A man crawls out of the wreckage, only, it _isn’t_ a man. Blood seeps down his checkered shirt, most from a gaping chest wound. His eyes are an unnatural grey. One of his legs is twisted in two different angles.

The only emergency vehicle on the scene is a police car, and as the man emerges from the crashed vehicle, one of them rushes forwards to help him. “Sir, stay still,” the cop says, reaching downwards, only for the man to lunge at his hand and –

An inhumane howl rips from the assisting cop as the man takes a large bite out of his hand.

Someone in the crowd screams. Another policeman, out of shot, fires a shot that hits the man in shoulder, but he does not fall. It’s enough for the attacked cop to back away, clutching his half-gone hand to his chest. Another shot is fired into the man’s chest, but instead of falling to the ground, he rises to his feet and begins stumbling towards the rest of the police.

It is not until a shot lands dead center in the man’s head does he finally stop, legs giving out, body collapsing to the ground in a pile of tangled, bloody limbs. Another scream comes from the gathered crowd. The video shuts off.

“Okay,” Murphy says quietly into the phone after several moments. “That was insane.”

 _“I know,”_ Emori replies quickly. _“At first, I thought it was fake. But then…another video came out, then photographs, frantic stories on message boards all across the Internet. Everyone’s saying the same thing. Someone who should be dead begins to attack and…_ eat _people.”_

Murphy resists the urge to laugh, one hand clutching the phone, the other checking Google to see if Emori’s playing a prank on him. She is not. “It’s got to be fake,” he insists. “I don’t believe it.”

She sighs. _“I hear you, but I think it might be real, John. I think – I think there’s zombies.”_

“A fucking zombie apocalypse,” he whispers. It’s an excuse to take a swig of alcohol. “Still, though, if it really was, wouldn’t the government be, I don’t know, doing something about it by now?”

_“They’re dismissing it as faux. At least, that’s what the station’s been told.”_

“Then maybe it _is_ faux.”

There’s more silence on the other end. _“Maybe. Anyways, I should go. I’m filling in for the early morning news tomorrow.”_

He nods. Already, she’s moved so far up the ranks. “Alright. Be careful, okay? I’m sure this is all nothing. But be careful anyways.”

_“You too.”_


	2. let's forget we're dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> murphy ignores some feelings. raven & luna make an appearance!

_(1) Unread Message From: **Bellamy**_

**10:56am: Come over?**

10:58am: its the middle of the day.

**10:59am: I know. Come over anyways?**

11:01am: is this something we do in daylight now?

**11:02am: It could be.**

**11:05am: I have coffee. Want to come over now?**

11:10am: be over in twenty.

Murphy laughs to himself as he pockets his phone and grabs his jacket. He has coffee in his own apartment. He doesn’t need Bellamy Blake’s coffee before noon on a Sunday.

He leaves, anyways.

 

-xxx-

 

They’re sitting at Bellamy’s kitchen table, each with a coffee and a croissant that Bellamy insists he’s baked but Murphy knows he hasn’t, when it happens.

“Look, there’s an ulterior motive to why I invited you over.”

Murphy nods. “Oh, I figured as much.”

He gets a raised eyebrow in response. “You did.”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence, and then, Bellamy laughs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” It’s a Sunday, so Bellamy’s not in uniform or at the station, giving him an excuse not to wear his contacts. Thick-rimmed glasses extenuate his features. Messy raven hair contrasts against his perfectly white teeth. These are details Murphy notices because he’s a writer, but remembers because he’s Murphy.

Bellamy takes in a breath before continuing. “I was serious when I asked you if you wanted to make this something serious.”

Murphy’s lips purse involuntarily. “Yeah, I figured that.”

“I think we work really well,” Bellamy argues. “I know you don’t see it, but this could be something really good. We should at least give it a chance, right?”

Murphy stays quiet. The words don’t come the way he wants them to. “The sex is good,” he ends up saying. “Do you really want to ruin that?”

He gets a smirk in response. “There will still be sex.”

“Okay, we do that, and then eventually we break up because everyone breaks up, _then_ who do we call at 2am because we’re lonely and tired?” he says. It’s not poetic, but it’ll do.

Bellamy nods. It’s not often someone takes Murphy this seriously. “What’s the point of keeping whatever this is going if we’re not doing as much as we can?”

“Now you sound like the writer.”

“Maybe you inspire me.”

Murphy’s gaze moves between Bellamy’s eyes and his lips. “Do I?”

Suffice to say, polite conversation ended there, both choosing to moving whatever this was to behind closed doors.

 

-xxx-

 

It’s a Monday morning when Murphy, after falling out of bed and re-dressing himself, hears a car engine roar outside Bellamy’s house. _“Bellamy!”_ a woman screams from outside, followed by three sharp blasts of a car horn.

Bellamy bolts upright in bed, throwing on his glasses and grabbing his gun. In his barely awake state, he forgets he has no holster.

There’s a moment of silence in the room. Bellamy continues dressing, Murphy continues staring. “You heard that, right?” Bellamy asks. “I thought I heard Raven’s voice.” Raven, being Raven Reyes, being police officer Raven Reyes, being Bellamy’s partner in literal crime at the station. Murphy’s never met her, but during these last months he has heard much about her.

Murphy’s sure he’s heard it, too, but the eerie silence from the outside world says otherwise. “It would be like Raven to show up like that, though,” Bellamy remarks. The uncertainty is evident in his voice.

The car horn blasts again. It is followed by three gunshots.

Bellamy’s eyes narrow, slipping his gun into his jacket pocket and exiting the room. He’s in cop mode, now. Murphy doesn’t have an option except to follow.

He turns the corner just in time to see Bellamy slowly open his front door. The sunlight hits Murphy’s eyes first, blinding him, but then he _hears_ them.

There’s a small silver car parked at a weird angle outside Bellamy’s place, the door thrown open as a woman in a police uniform sits halfway inside, gun drawn, firing at – well –

He _hears_ what she’s firing at before he sees them. The sound of clenching teeth, grating flesh and shuffling feet hit his ears. Murphy’s never heard this much groaning. It really is a 70s zombie movie.

One of them moves into his vision, then, shirt tattered and eyes wildly grey. “Oh my god,” he whispers, because what else is he supposed to say when a woman with a clear, fatal stab wound and more blood on her shirt than in her body is shambling forwards with an intention to kill?

The woman in the car, Raven, pulls the trigger. With one spray of blood, the figure falls.

“Get in!” Raven yells. At this point, everyone who lives on the street is on it, running in opposite directions from the figures and screaming but Bellamy, he remains frozen at the door, one hand on the gun still in his jacket pocket.

“Bellamy!” Murphy says. His feet choose this moment to work and he rushes forwards, pulling Bellamy with him. If Raven’s surprised to see someone with her partner, she doesn’t voice it, instead gesturing once to the backseat. Murphy guesses this is his invitation and gets in.

Raven shuts the door once Bellamy’s finally gotten inside, revving the engine. Clumps of fake grass from the yard fly into the air as the car turns, jerkily, and then they are driving down the road.

Zombies, figures, dead – whatever Murphy chooses to call them – stand scattered among the road. There are more living than dead, but if he knows anything from literature, this will not last long.

Maybe it’s because he’s a writer, but he’s amazed at how _normal_ this all feels. He supposes it’s because he’s a believer that the apocalypse was coming any day now. While his bets were on nuclear, this is just as messy.

“What the fuck,” Bellamy whispers from the passenger seat. Murphy’s slightly honoured that in his moment of pure terror, Bellamy’s eyes move to the rear-view mirror to meet Murphy’s.

However, it is also this moment that Murphy realizes there is another person in the car, sitting right next to him. She’s got the curliest hair he’s seen in a while, and her almond eyes are full of determination. “I’m Luna,” she says, noticing his stare.

“Murphy.”

From the front seat, Raven snickers. “What kind of name is Murphy?”

He gives her a sly smile in return. “Mine, I guess.”

“Sure thing,” she replies. “Anyway, I’m Raven, Bellamy’s partner at the station. Luna’s my girlfriend.”

“I’m an analyst,” Luna adds. “I don’t really like the violence part of the job.”

From the few minutes he’s seen them, Raven and Luna seem anything but similar. Murphy guesses that this is why they work so well.

“Is nobody going to talk about what just happened?” That’s Bellamy, because of course it is.

Raven’s expression steels. “You all saw that viral video about a week ago. Well, it wasn’t faux.”

Bellamy just shakes his head. “I don’t understand. Nothing like this was happening last night, or in the morning. How is it so quick?”

“It wasn’t,” Raven replies. “It was just…kept under wraps. At the station this morning, someone we apprehended got violent, and got shot. He died pretty quickly, but then…he _wasn’t_ dead. He managed to bite three others before we took him down.”

Somehow, Bellamy keeps himself calm. “Right…what happened to the ones he bit?”

“They all died within a couple hours, and then _they_ turned.”

Silence fills the car. They pass three more dead before Raven continues. “It was obvious the whole station was going down, so I got Luna and ran but…I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Thank you, Raven.”

“Thank me _after_ we get to the coast.”

“Why the coast?”

“Because, I’m hoping that zombies can’t swim.”

Murphy zones out and chooses to watch the road, playing the game of ‘let’s figure out how this dead person died.’ Most of them appear to be shot, but some are far too mangled to even make a guess –

He thinks, then, that he should message Emori, but he decides it’s better not to deal with the heartbreak he’ll ultimately face if he _knows_ she’s dead.

Instead, he’s here. He has Bellamy with him. Raven and Luna seem alright, if a bit optimistic and a little hardcore, but he can –

The left tire blows. With a surprised yell, Raven tries to steady the car, but they’re swinging too far to control. She slams on the brake. They hit the curb anyways.

Murphy shuts his eyes as the car flips once, twice, and then they all still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo this is our core four...however next chapter will be the debut of almost all the rest of the characters! and if you're thinking this whole apocalypse happened really quickly, well. yeah. i guess it did. 
> 
> anyways thanks for the read! part 3 will be up soon <3


End file.
